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TRISTRAM & ISEULT 



A DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS 



BY 

J^'COMYNS CARR 

A j 

AUTHOR OF 
** KING ARTHUR," ETC. 



THE KNICKERBOCKER PRESS 
NEW YORK 




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J8RARY of CONGRESS 
Two Conies Received 

AUG 29 1906 

C|^S ffP KXc. No, 



Copyright 1906 By 
J. Corny ns Carr 



CHARACTERS 



Mark King of Cornwall 

Sir Tristram of Lyonesse His Nephew 
Sir Andre:d 
Sir Dinas 



Attendant on Tristram 
King of Ireland 



•1 

f» Knights of Gormon^s Court 

J 



Sir Sagramore 
gouvhrnayi^e 

GORMON 

Sir Galleron 

Sir Malgrine 

Sir Morganore 

Sir PaIvAmide's Squire 

Sir Tristram's Squire 

The Master of the Ship 

A Sailor 

Ogrin the Dwarf 

argan2hael 

Oren 

ISEULT . 

Brangwaine 

IsEULT OF THE White Hands 

Heralds, Knights, Squires, &c., &c 



Cousin to Tristram 

Knights of King Mark's Court 



Stepmother to Tristram 
Queen of Ireland 
Her Daughter 
Waiting-woman to Iseult 



ACT I 
Thk Poisoned Spear 

ACT II 
The Hands that Heai. 

ACT III 
The Love Draught 

ACT IV 
The Wound Incurable 



TRISTRAM & ISEULT 

ACT I. 

Thk -Poisoned Spear. 

Scene: — A narrow bay surrounded by rocky shores. 
At the back to R. a shelving ledge of rock forms a 
natural quay^ by the side of which is moored the 
ship in which Tristram is to set sail for Ire- 
land. The vessel is set diagonally ^ with its raised 
stern turned to the audience ^ the rem^ainder being 
hidden by a rising wall of rock^ behind which it 
finally glides out of view at the fall of the cur- 
tain. Down those rocks to R. descends a steep path 
leading from the castle^ the ramparts of which are 
seen in perspective. The ce7ttre of the stage forms 
the fringe of the little bay^ with projecting rocks 
screening the view of the water; while to L. is 
seen the opposite shore of the bay stretching away 
to the cliffs that overlook the open sea. 

As the curtain rises Saii^ORS are seen passing 
from the ship to the shore. Andred, accompanied 
by a Knight, descends by the rocky path to R.^ 
and as he reaches the level of the stage he is met 
by ARGANTHAEiy, wlio enters L. 

Andred {To Knight.] Go, straightway tell these 
Lords from lyyonesse 
The Kingf will greet them here. 

\_The Knight bows., crosses., and goes out L. 



2 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT. 

Arganthael. What Lords are these ? 

Andred. Sir Dinas and his kin who, at this hour 
When all is ready, now would pray the Kingf 
That Tristram shall not sail ! 

Arganthael. Aye, and the King: 

What mood is he in ? 

Andred. In such a perilous mood 

That we, who thought we knew him yesterday, 
Had best to-day forgfet the thing he seemed 
And-'read him o'er again. He now declares 
That we, not he, have urged Sir Tristram forth ! 
And of a truth he hath contrived it so 
We have no word to count on. 

Arganthael. Nay, no word ! 

A king indeed were none if he had need 

Of words to work his will; and 'tis their grace 

Who serve him best that they can best divine 

His mute commands. If we for our own ends 

Have counselled Tristram's going we have cause ? 

Doth he not stand as L^ord of I^yonesse 

And heir to Mark' s whole kingdom, blocking that path 

Which else my sons might scale to win a crown ? 

And as for thee dost thou not still recall 

How, in that hour when Moraunt flouted thee, 

His greater daring left upon thy brow 

The brand of coward ? 

Andred. We have cause enough. 

Think not, sweet Arganthael, I have forgot. 

\_He approaches her and takes her face between 
his hands. 
'Twas then our love took birth, when our two hearts. 
Scorning those softer ways that lovers use, 
Drew lip to lip in secret whispered vows 
That sealed his doom. 

Arganthael. Yet, Andred, all our cause 

Is naught compared to his. 



ACT I. 3 

Andred. So had I thougfht; 

Yet now we stand in peril, for these knights 
Cry with one voice : should Tristram sail to-day, 
The wound he g^ot from Moraunt's poisoned spear 
Must end his life ! 

Arganthael. Well, Sir, and if it be ? 

Mark will not halt for that. Thou know'st him well. 
When Tristram's sword struck Moraunt to the earth 
And freed our trembling land, hast thou forgot 
That look upon Mark's face ? His thin parched lips 
Could scarcely frame the sounding words of praise 
He dared not then withhold. And day by day 
As Tristram grew in fame and those twin beams 
Of love and worship, drawn to where he stood, 
Left the throne starved and sunless, did'st not note 
How wan he grew the while his crafty eyes 
Still wooed our deeper hate — willing the end 
Yet fearful of the means ! I tell thee no, 
The King of yesterday still rules to-day ; 
'Tis only fear that shakes him. 

Andred. IvOok, he comes! 

Enter King Mark, descending the path to R, 

attended by two KnightS who stand apart. 

Mark. Stands the ship ready ? 
Andred. See you not, my lyord ? 

The sailors go aboard. 

\_At the back the Sailors are seen passing to 
and fro from the vessel to the shore. 
Arganthael. They do but wait 

Sir Tristram's coming. 

Mark. Nay, they wait our word. 

He shall not sail to-day. 

[Arganthael makes a movement as though 
about to speak. 

Stay, Arganthael, 



4 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT, 

We have been over hasty in this business. 
These knights suspect our purpose. 

Arganthael. Would they then 

See Tristram die ? Have not all cures been 

sought, 
And sought in vain "^ Yield not to that, my Lord ! 

Mark. Yea, needs we must ! For should we send 
him forth 
And dearth o'ertake him there, this fatal day 
Must stand to our account. All time to come 
Will cry — *Twas Mark who sent him to his doom ! 
So all were doubly lost, for Tristram's fame 
Would mould from death a larger memory 
Whose worshipped image still would steal away 
The light that should be ours ! 

Enter from L. a Saii^or in rough and stained 
garTnents. 

Why who is here ? 
Arganthael. He hath a sea- worn visage. 
Andred, What seek you, sir? 
Sailor. Can any man tell me where dwells the 

King of this land ? 
Andred. There, yonder stands his castle. 
Sailor. I thank you. 

\_He crosses as if to ascend the rocky path. 
Andrkd stops him. 
Andred. Stay, fellow, what would you with the King? 
Sailor. That which 'tis fitting he should know, or 

ill may befall. 
Andred. Then speak, for there he stands. \_Point- 
ing to Mark.] 

Sailor. Nay, sir, flout me not. Any clown may 
know a king when he sees him. In Norway he who 
rules us stands nobly and is clad in steel. 

Andred. Thou art an insolent dog ! 



ACT I 5 

Mark. Nay, let him be! Truly, fellows, this 
knight doth but jest with thee ! What seek you with 
the King ? I'll bear thy message. 

Sailor. Then prithee, tell me, is there a very valiant 
knight of this land named Sir Tristram of Lyonesse? 

Mark. Aye, so there is! 

Sailor. Doth the King love him well as men say ? 

Mark. There's none dare say he doth not. 

Sailor. Then wherefore does this same knight set 
sail to-day for Ireland ? 

Mark. And wherefore not ? 

Sailor. There is one Gormon rules in Ireland, who 
thinks of nought but how to avenge the death of Sir 
Moraunt, his son — and hark'ee, e'en as I left the Irish 
port, this Gormon had, in that very hour, let fly a 
bloody oath decreeing instant death 'gainst any Cor- 
nish lord whose feet should touch the Irish shore. 
Think you not the King should know of this ? 

Mark. Truly, and thou thyself shalt tell him. 
\_Tur7iing to one of his Knights.] See that this 
worthy fellow is well bestowed in the Castle, 

Arganthael. lAside.] And well guarded. 
Mark. Thou hast told this to none but me? 
Sailor. Nay, and of a truth I thought to tell it to 
none but the King. 

Mark. 'Tis well, this lord shall bear thee to him. 
Sailor. I thank thee. \_To Andred^^ he goes out.^ 
See you, Sir. you could not beguile me. Now I shall 
see the King indeed. [Exit R. with the two Knights. 
[Mark stands for a moment alone and silent^ 
Arganthakl, ajid Andred watching him. 
Then^ after a pause^ he turns to Andred. 
Mark. Bear Tristram hither. {Exit Andred. 

Arganthael. Is it not strange, my lord, 

That even this wild fellow from the North 
Still prates of Tristram's fame ? 



6 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT. 

Mark. Aye, so he did I 

'Tis blown across the world with every wind, 
And every wind but bears it back again 
With added gflory till our deafened ears 
Can hear no other sound. But that shall end! 
He hath stood betwixt us and our people's love 
Like a dark cloud that robs us of the sun. 
Yet soogi that cloud shall pass: 'tis passing- now, 

\_The light grows as he speaks. 

See, where those truant beams that seemed to shine 
For him alone creep back to kiss our feet. 
And mount and mount above his fallen corse 
Till all their radiance, that we deemed was lost. 
Returns to gfild our crown ! Nay, Arganthael, 
Howe'er these knights may plead our answer stands: 
Sir Tristram sails to-day. 

Arganthael. Hold fast to that. 

And here they come. Sir Dinas and his crew. 

Enter L. a group of KnightS headed by SiR 
Dinas de Lidan. 

Mark. Welcome, Sir Knights, and doubly welcome 
now 
Since well we know ye love Sir Tristram well. 

Dinas. My Lord, I would speak for all. 

Mark. Stay, Sir, not yet. 

First we would speak for thee. In that dark hour 
When Cornwall lay in peril, Tristram then 
Stood singly forth and bore the brunt of all : 
Sir Moraunt's challenge found, and left, ye dumb. 
There was not one to answer save this knight 
Who dared where none would dare, freeing our land, 
Which else had passed 'neathGormon's bloody sway. 
Yet he whose stout arm wrought this miracle 
There got from Moraunt's poisoned spear a wound 



ACT /. 7 

Which since has sapped his blood ! Is there one 

here 
Of all who vaunt their love can heal that wound ? 
Have we not searched the land and found no cure ? 
What hope is left? Nought, Sirs, save one alone; 
For in that land where Tristram sails to-day 
There dwells the fair Iseult, whose healing: hands 
Are famed througfh all the world: haply 'tis she 
Shall make him whole again. But, see ! they come. 
Those weeping- maids who tend him. 

\_A company <?/ Maidens cladi7i white descend 
the winding path to R. They 7nove slowly 
as they sing^ and in their inidst lies the 
wounded Tristram, borne upon a litter 
with GOUVERNAYLE walking by his side. 

Chorus, 

Bear him sea-ward to that shore 
Whence came Moraunt's poisoned spear, 

Tristram, he whose wound is sore; 
Nought of hope or help is here ! 

Make him whole as heretofore 

Maiden of the Healing Hands 
Send him homeward, safe once more, 

Tristram loved of all our lands. 

\_At the finish Tristram raises hhnself on the 
litter supported by Gouvernayle. 

Tristram. My lyord, I did not look for this farewell. 

Mark. Nor we, whose love had thought to bind 
thee here. 
Still even at our side, our chosen heir! 
Yet so God wills it ; for that grievous wound 
Still eats thy life away, and nought is left 



8 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT. 

But this one hope forecast by Gondoine : 
' ' In that wild land, whence came that poisoned spear, 
There lies all hope of healing-, there, not here." 
So speaks that sage's voice- 

Tristram. Ah! Good my Lord 

I have no hope of healing 1 Well I know 
This wound I bear is mortal. 

Din as. Pray you then 

Let him not venture forth ! Here in our land 
Are those who love him and will tend him well 
Whatever fate befall him. 

Tristram. Peace, Sirs, Peace I 

Ye know not what ye ask. Though all the land 
Sought with one voice to stay me, ^twere in vain. 
I still would sail to-day. This wound I bear 
Was dealt by Moraunt, and for all its pains 
I think there's but one end. Yet, e'er that comes, 
There is a deeper wound I fain would heal, 
A wound this hand hath wrought. 

Gouvernayle. My master, no ! 

That hand is stainless and the sword it bears 
Struck Moraunt to the earth. 

Tristram,. Ay, so it did! 

And by that blow hath stirred this endless strife 
Betwixt his land and ours. 

Dinas. Wherefore the more 

We pray you : go not forth to that far land 
Where only hate may dwell. 

Mark. Nay fear not that! 

If aught of ill befall him in that land, 
Our swords shall speak in answer. Gormon knows 
Our ships like hounds in leash but wait one word 
To leap from wave to wave, from shore to shore, 
Till we stand face to face. 

Tristram. Sire, not that way 

Shall peace be won! Could'st thou stand here with me 



ACT I. 9 

Beneath death's shadowing: wing-, thine eyes like mine 
Would learn to pierce the folded veil of time 
And read its secret. Truly spake that voice — 
That only there whence came that poisoned spear 
Dwells our last hope of healing; not for me 
Whose wound may count for naug^ht, but for our land 
Which now lies stricken and must bleed to death 
Unless that wound be staunched which my hand 
wroug^ht 

When Moraunt fell. For blood cries out for blood, 
And this long- feud 'twixt Ireland and thee, 
Devouring both our lands, shall never cease. 
Save by the sweeter grace of her whose hands, 
Bear healing with them. 

Mark. Would you have us sue 

Of this proud King, and crave on bended knee 
That he should show us mercy ? 

Tristra7n. Nay, not so! 

A King may kneel, but only to a Queen. 
I'd have thee sue of her who shall be Queen! 
Iseult of Ireland, King Gormon's child. 
Whom all men count the fairest maid on earth. 
For in her face as in a faultless flower. 
Is gathered up all beauty. Kneel to her ! 
Is she not worthy to be crowned thy Queen ? 

Mark. Thou art mine heir, I have no need to wed. 

Tristram. I am thine heir. Then none hath so good 
right 
To crave this boon of thee. Let me go forth 
As thine ambassador to win this maid, 
So shall I die as I had hoped to live 
In serving thee, and so in this last act 
Bring peace once more 'twixt Gormon's throne and 
thine. 

Mark. We know not how to answer. All our dream 
Centres in thee. Yet from thy loyal thought 



10 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT. 

Springes a new hope that bids us gfrant thy prayer ; 
For Gormon's lust of veng^eance needs must halt 
In face of this sweet messag^e. Look you, Sirs, 
Ye who but late did bid Sir Tristram stay, 
What say ye now ? 

Arganthael. My lord, let him go forth. 

It is thy people's will that thou should'st wed; 
Yet 'tis not this that moves me, for I see 
In this proud embassy a surer hope 
For Tristram's life. 

Mark. Dinas, what sayest thou ? 

Dinas, My I^ord, we stand by thee. 

Mark, [7(9 Tristram.] Then take thy way : 

Yet know ye all, our love would hold him here — 
'Tis but the dearer wish, that in that land. 
His wound may find a cure, that bids us yield: 
'Tis that one thought alone that sends thee forth 
To win this royal maid. Yet hearken all: 
No welcome waits for any Queen on earth 
Save and if fate should will that thou thyself, 
Made whole once more, should bear her back to us. 

Gouvernayle. My lyord, they hoist the sail ! 
Tristram. Stay, Gouvernayle, 

Halt here awhile. 

\_He motions the bearers to leave him, and 
GouvERNAYlyE^<9^i' Upstage^ then he turns 
to Mark 

Wilt thou draw near to me ? 
I cannot rise to thee. [Mark approaches him. 

Here e'er I gfo. 
I would one last assurance of thy love. 

Mark. \_With averted eyes. ^ Thou hast it all. What 
need to question it? 

Tristram. Sick thoughts will oft-times haunt a sick 
man's brain. 



ACT I. 11 

I dreamed last night that loyal love was dead, 
And I the cause. 
Mark. Most surely thou didst dream. 

Tristram. That love endures? 
Mark, And shall, till death shall end it. 

Yet tarry not, the sail sits shoulder high, 
And every wasted moment steals from hope 
Its promised dower. 

Tristram. That dower lies in thy love 

Which still stands all in all ; and here I swear 
To win that Royal maid to be thy bride. 
Or in thy wooing- end a wasted life. 
So bear me on. 

\_As Tristram is borne to the ship the group of 
Maidens take up again the last verse of the 
Chorus^ and while they sing^ Tristram is 
seen standing on the poop of the vessel^ 
supported by GouvernaylK. 
Arganthael. [^^2<^^/6>Mark.] Look on his face once 
more — 
For the last time. 

Tristram. \_From the ship.^ My lord, farewell! 

Farewell ! 
Mark. For the last time, farewell ! 



Curtain. 



ACT II. 
The Hands that Hkai.. 

Scene:"* — Hall in the Palace of King Gormon in 
Ireland. To R. a7i open arcade with columns 
through which is seen a view of rocks and sea. 
In the ce7itre is a recessed alcove in which is set 
Tristram's couch. It is screened by curtains 
which are drawn back when the act opens. To 
L. C. two great doors^ which open to the lists 
where the tournament is taking place. 
1st Kiught. How fares it now? 
2nd Knight. In truth most ill, my Lord. 

Our knights are overmatched: this pagan Lord, 
Sir Palamide the Saracen, whose shield 
Doth bear for sole device the face of death, 
Still stands the conqueror. 

1st Knight. What knights are left 

For this last day's encounter ? 

2nd Knight. As I came 

I saw Sir Lamorack with lifted helm. 
Hopeless yet fearless, ride into the lists 
To face Sir Palamide. 

1st Knight. Aye, and after him? 

2nd Knight. Sir Galleron of Galway, he stands first 
Of those that yet remain ; Sir Malgrine next. 
And next and last the brave Sir Morganore 
In whom lies all our hope. 
\The great gates to L. open and the trumpet is heard. 

Nay, heard you that ? 
The end draws swiftly. 



ACT II. 13 

Enter through doors King Gormon with QueEN 
Oren, followed by KnightS and Dames, and 
last MoRGANORE, Gai,i,eron and Malgrine. 

King. Where is Morg-anore ? 

Morganore. I'm here, my Lord! 

King. Tis well, and Malgrine too! 

Aye, and Sir Galleron! we need ye all. 
What stands upon the hazard of this hour 
We may not now withhold. When Palamide 
First challenged all our knig^hts, then straight for all 
We answered him, nor deemed that ill could chance. 
Oren. Nor then had cause, for then Sir Moraunt 
lived. 

King. Aye! and full many another in whose 

strength, 

That oft' had proven true, we set our trust! 

Have we done wrongly ? Ye shall answer that, — 

Ye three who still remain the last of all 

To save our land ; for in that boastful hour, 

Undoubting of their valour who have fallen. 

We pledged our oath that should this paynim knight 

Prove victor at the close, he then might claim 

What boon so'er he willed: and now 'tis said 

His courag^e runs so high he will demand 

The hand of fair Iseult. 

Oren. Yea, of a truth! 

A curse lies on the land since Moraunt died ! 

Morga7iore. \_Kneeling before thelLv^Q.^ My Lord, 
we are less than Moraunt ! Who would dare , 
To stand his equal ? Aye and less than those 
This knight hath overborne ; yet here we vow 
While breath remains, we will not flinch nor yield 
To proud Sir Palamide! This word for all. 

\_Doors L. open and trumpets heard without. 
E^iter Herald. 



14 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT, 

Herald. Sir Lamorack rides beaten from the field ; 
The challenge sounds ag^ain ! 

Morganore. And we are here ! 

King. Then take this last word with ye : if God will 
That one among-st ye three should here prevail 
Against this Pagan knight, then that reward 
Which else were his, we freely yield again 
To hinjwho smites him down. Nay, Sirs, and more ! 
If any Christian knight within our realm, 
Whoe'er he be, unhorse this Saracen — 
Our oath stands firm ; what gift he wills to ask 
We needs must grant, even though the chosen prize 
Should prove our daughters hand. 

\_Challenge sounds again. 

Morganore. For fair Iseult ! 

Galletion. For God and thee ! 

Malgrine. For God and fair Iseult ! 

\_Exeunt Morganore, Malgrine, and Gai,i,e- 
RON with their SquirES and ATTENDANTS. 
As the great doors close the strains of a harp 
are heard through the open columns to R. 

King. Where is she now ? 

Oren. Iseult? What need to ask? 

Those silken sounds make answer. Since that day 
This stranger I^ord came drifting to our shores. 
Though no man knows what knightly name he bears, 
She hath no thought but how to heal his wound. 

Brangwaine. Hour upon hour she sits beside the sea 
The while he harps to her. 

King. [To Brangwaine.] Go, bring her thither. 

[Exit Brangwaine. 
That must be told which until yesterday 
We hoped to hide for ever. Would we owned 
But half her magic art, and so might heal 
The wound that waits her now ! 



ACT IL 15 

Oren. Ah ! rather think 

Had Moraunt lived there were no wound to heal ! 
For thougfh he stood the last of all our knig-hts 
We should not fear nor falter, knowing^ his arm 
Would shield her from this shame. 

King. Enough ! Enoug^h ! 

We cannot wake the dead ! 

Oren. Nay, but the dead 

May wake the livingf ! Eor his blood is ours, 
And cried aloud for vengeance. Thou wert by, 
The nig-ht they bore him hither, when these hands 
Searching: his mortal wound, drew forth at last 
This splintered fragment of that traitor's sword. 
Whose hand had slain him ! Look on it again ! 

\^She draws from her bosom a fragment of broken 
steel .^ which she wears attached to a chain. 

Here, ever next my breast, from that dread hour 
Hath lain this broken steel, whose ic^^ touch 
Yet feeds my heart's one flame, one sole desire- 
To find the murderer out and strike him down. 
What wonder then, at this our hour of need, 
I dream again of vengeance ? 

King. Ah, no more ! 

Think not that I forget ! I, whose mad vow 
Is like to lose all that is left to us. 

Enter ISEULT, followed by Brangv/aink. 

Iseult. My Lord, thou did'st send for me ? 

Kijtg. Aye, so I did. 

Something there was I had in mind to say, 
But now 'tis flown. 

Iseult. It will come back again. 

I may not tarry now ; that knight I tend 
Waits for me there below. To-day I dreamed 
His malady was ended ; near the dawn 
His eyes turned seaward, and his parted lips 



16 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT, 

Moved as thoug^h shaping- a forgotten name ! 
I scarce dared breathe, but listened, thinking- at last 
That memory, his fevered wound had wrecked, 
Would grow to life once more, and we should learn 
From whence he came and what proud name he bears. 
But on a sudden all g-rew dark again. 
He spake no word, but turned with trembling hands 
And clutched the harp. Hark you ! that softer strain 
Doth t'ell he needs me. \She moves to go. 

Or en. Stay child, go not yet. 

We too have need of thee ! Can'st thou not see 
The King is sorely troubled ? 

Iseult. \_Returni7tg to Gormon and laying her 
hand upon his shoulder ?i Is it so ? 
Why then, I'll tend thee too ; and these same hands 
That coaxed the poison from his graver wound, 
Shall chase thy cares away. 

King. I would they could ! 

Iseult. First I must know thy pain ? 

\Trumpet heard without. 

Oren. Dost hear that cry ? 

And yet would question him ? Can'st thou not 

guess 
What bitter shame doth here afflict us both ? 
In this great tournament that ends to-day 
One after one the mightiest of our knights 
Have yielded to this paynim Lord, vv^hose spear 
Bears all before him. 

Iseult. Aye, so Brangwaine said. 

Yet more remain ! the brave Sir Morganore 
And Malgrine too ! They are not worsted yet ! 
And though they were, methinks 'twere not enough 
To breed that look of torment in thine eyes. 
Nay, do not turn away ! There's something more 
Doth lurk beneath what's told. Is there some prize 
This lord may win thou hast no heart to pay ? 



ACT 11, 17 

King. Aye, child, there is ! 

Iseult. Yet never grieve at that. 

Our land is rich ; he cannot begfgfar us ! 

King. Yea, but he can! For this rich prize he 
claims 
Is more than all the jewels in our crown. 

Iseult. What may that be ? Ah ! tell me. 

The doors open., trumpet sounds a^td Herai,d 
enters followed by Palamide's Squire 

Herald. Good, my I^ord, 

Sir Galleron hath fallen ; Sir Palamide 
Now cries a halt and sends his Squire hither 
To ask a boon of thee. 

Squire. \_Kneeling to the King.] King: Gormon hail ! 
My master gives thee greeting and doth crave 
Thy presence in the field, that at the end 
When all have fallen, in the face of all 
He there may claim by warrant of thine oath 
That sweet reward that crowns his victory, 
The hand of Fair Iseult ! 

Iseult. Was this the prize? 

Oh, Sir, 'tis roughly told! And yet I know not! 
That sentence had it fallen from thy lips 
Perchance had hurt me more. \_Turning to Squire. 

Thy master, Sir, 
Should be a valiant knight. Then tell him this — 
What's won by force must needs be held by force. 
No gentler bond shall stand betwixt us twain : 
I have no will to wed. 

Squire. Most royal maid, 

Whate'er my L,ord shall win is held for thee. 
And in thy service. So this day shall prove. 
For here he doth declare, on oath made good, 
That, should this last encounter yield him all. 
He will straightway take upon him Christian vows. 



18 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT. 

And furthermore, in worship of thy name, 

He will not rest till, searching^ through the world, 

He finds Sir Tristram, L/ord of Lyonesse, 

And there upon his body doth avenge 

The murder of thy brother. 

Oren. Now, in faith. 

This is a valiant knight! For all that's gone 
That vow may make amends. 

Ise^lt. No, it may not. 

I have no will to wed. 

Oren, That will shall come. 

Let vengeance fill the unborn springs of love 
'Till every drop of Moraunt's wasted blood 
So lights the flame of passion in thy veins 
That thou shalt take this warrior to thine arms 
And call him I^ord! Here, beside Moraunt's bier 
Thou too did'st take that oath that binds us all. 
Dost thou not still remember ? 

Iseult. All too well! 

And see his dead face now. Yet God hath willed 
These hands were made for healing, not for hurt. 
For so that gift in dreaming long ago 
Was borne to me by one whose fairer face 
Yet mirrored mine ; with eyes so like mine own 
That as I gazed in them it seemed as though 
I saw myself again. And since that hour 
All the dumb creatures of our woods, whose pains 
The hunter heeds not — all have sought me out ; 
The fallen bird with broken quivering wing. 
The limping hare, the bleeding stricken fawn. 
And I have healed them all. 'Twas so, my Lord, 
I won that art that all the land hath blessed. 
I would not, therefore, that my marriage vow. 
Were writ in blood. 

[Tristram's harp heard softly again. 
See, now how I forget 



ACT II. 19 

That one who needs me most ! 

[She turns to go and meets GouvKRNAYI^e. 
Gouvernayle. I^ady, my Lord 

Grows weary and would sleep. 

Iseult, Aye, so he shall; 

Sleep is a sovereig^n cure ! 

Enter 2nd Herald. 

2nd Herald. Sir Malgrine waits 

And ready harnessed doth but need thy sigfn. 

Iseult. Then all is not yet lost. Sire, when it is 
Be sure I shall not fail thee. Fare thee well. 

\_Exit Iseult. 
Khig. Go, let the challenge sound. Tell Pal amide 
We'll straightway to the field, and at the -close, 
Whate'er befall, our oath shall stand as now. 

[Exeunt L. King, Knights and Courtiers, 
leaving Oren aitd Brangwaine. 
Oren. Did'st note her, Brangwaine? In her pitying 

eyes 
There dwells no memory of Sir Moraunt's death. 
Her thoughts set all one way — What is this knight 
Whose very name we know not ? 

Brangwahie. • Who can tell ? 

The fever that was like to end his life 
Hath left the past a blank ; where none may read — 
Not he himself — what once was written there. 

Oren. Yet I would read it. 

Brangwaine. Oft-times, as he plays, 

The echoing music of his harp calls back 
Stray memories of forgotten days that fall, 
lyike scattered beads from off a broken string; 
And once it chanced, I do remember well, 
He sang of some great battle past and gone. 
Wherein I since have thought he took that wound 
Her skill hath healed . Iseult crept to his side 



20 TRISTRAM AND ISEULl. 

With cheeks of flame and trembling lips that hung^ 
On every word; then rising at the close 
She prayed her eyes might look upon that sword 
Had wrought such valiant deeds. 

Oven. And then! What then? 

Brangwaine. Why, then a sudden cloud fell on his 
brow 
And he denied her. 

Orem. Wherefore did he so ? 

Bra7igwaine. I know not, Madame. 
Oren, Brangwaine, we shall know! 

Aye, and this very hour. But yester-night 
A withered crone stood by the castle gate. 
And as I passed she croaked this in mine ear — 
" The light of Erin's poisoned spear 
Shall draw that wounded warrior near." 
What if this knight her care hath won to life 
Should prove none other than that Cornish Lord 
Who struck Sir Moraunt down ! Where hangs this 
sword ? 

Bra7tgwaine. He guards it closely ever at his side, 
Safe locked within its scabbard. 

Oren, Yet to-day 

We'll draw it from its hiding. \_Harp heard again. 

See you, now 
She leads him hither! 'Tis his hour for rest. 
Wait for her here : then bid her give him this . 

\_She ha7ids Brangwaine a small phial. 
It hath a virtue that persuades to sleep, 
And when all's still I'll creep beside his couch 
And draw that naked blade from out its sheath. 
If then I find it lacks this splintered steel. 
He shall not wake again, for these same hands 
Shall send Sir Moraunt's murderer to his doom. 

\_Exit Oren softly^ leaving Brangwaine standing 
by the curtai^ied opening. 



ACT II. 21 

Enter Tristram a7id ISEUi^T. 

Tristram, I'll hear it from thy lips; some passing- 
cloud 

Hath dimmed the tranquil summer in thine eyes, 
And I would know the cause. 

Iseult. First thou shalt sleep. 

Tristram. I am not weary now. 

Iseult. Nay, Sir, thou art. 

And when thy sleep is ended then perchance 
I'll try to tell thee all. 

Brangwaine. Madame, the Queen 

Did bid me give thee this — it hath a charm 
That wins all eyes to sleep. 

Iseult. Now see you, Sir, 

We must obey the Queen. I thank thee, Brangfwaine. 

[Then aside to her. 
Go quickly forth and bear me word again 
If any hope be left ! None ling^ers here ! 

Brangwaine. I will, sweet mistress. \_Exit L. 

ISKULT stands as though lost in reverie. Tristram 
approaches her. 

Tristram. Would I owned thy power! 

That so the patient might become the leech, 
And cure his stricken nurse ; for that sweet skill 
That drew the poison from my wounded breast 
Hath lodged it in thine own. Is this life's law? 
Is health so dearly bought that what is won 
Proves but a robbery from that purer source 
That did bestow the gfift? Then g^ive me back 
The wound those hands have healed, that so mine eyes 
May see thee smile again. 

Iseult. , 'Twere all in vain. 

Nor thine, nor mine, nor any hand may heal 
That wound I bear. There is no hope from death ; 
And he was dead e'er yet they bore him hither, 
Bre yet these hands had touched him. , 



22 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT, 

Tristram. He was dead ? 

Iseult. Aye, Moraunt. It was here they laid him 
down, 
Here in this hall. 

Tristram. Doth that black memory 

Still haunt thy soul"? I thought 'twas past and 
done. 

Iseult. I thougfht so too, but now it lives ag^ain. 
Those yfeless eyes renew their vacant g'aze. 
And that dread oath of blood my halting: lips 
Scarce dared to whisper then, I now could cry 
Aloud to all the world. Aye, sir, and more. 
For were he here, that caitiff knigfht who slew him, 
I'd yield what healing^ power these hands have owned 
And pray their touch were mortal. 

Tristram. Wherefore now? 

What is it now that stirs thy gentler heart 
And turns thy tears to rage? 

Iseult. Were Moraunt here 

There were no need for tears! Had Moraunt lived 
This Pagan knight who lords it over all 
Were beaten to the dust, nor then would dare 
To name that prize which now he is like to win. 

Tristram. Is it so much he wins ? 

Iseult. Not much, yet all 

To her who yields it all. 

Tristrajn. Then 'tis for thee 

The lists are set? For thee those fallen knights 
Have fought in vain? Thou dost not answer me. 
Yet well I know 'tis so; thou art the prize 
This Pagan lord hath set his heart to win. 

Iseult. So poor a prize . 

Tristram. So poor! Ah, hear me now. 

I too would curse the hour when Moraunt died. 
And curse the hand that slew him. 

Iseult. What have I done ? 



ACT IL 23 

Tristram. 'Tis not what thou hast done! When 
doth it end, 
This hapless tournament? 

Iseult. 'Tis ending- now. 

Within the hour the final challeng^e sounds. 
Tristram. And all have rig-ht to enter? 

Iseult. Aye, Sir, all 

Who at the close can prove their knightly name. 

Tristram. Go leave me now. Bid Gouvernayle come 
hither, 
I may have need of him. 

Iseult. Ah ! no, not yet, 

Not till I see thee sleep ! I have undone 
All that these hands have wrought. I pray thee rest. 

Tristram. Ay, so I would ! and find once more the 
way 
That leads to sleep ! 'Tis thou shalt harp me there. 
For thou alone can'st guide my feet agfain 
To that lost land of dreams. Harp on, harp on ! 

\_He throws hi7nself on the couch andJsUVLT 
sits by his side and siiigs to him. 

Iseult. \Sings\ Nig;ht that bears all healing 
For the wounds of day, 
Night so softly stealing 

Bear his soul away. 
Where the white moon creeping 

O'er thy silvered lawns 
There shall find him sleeping 
When a new day dawns. 
\_As he lies upon the couch as if in sleep the 
hall gradually darkens. At the close she 
rises and gazes upon him^ drawi^ig the 
curtains as she speaks. 

At last he sleeps. How easily he rests ! 



24 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT 

If aught did vex his soul 'tis vanished now 
And all forgotten. 

{Voices of unseen spirits are heard singing. 

Chorus 

Whiter than the moon are her hands that shall enfold 
him, 
Darker than the night is that land wherein she 
dwells. 
Thither shall she bear him and there thine eyes behold 
him, 
There when all is ended in the last of last farewells. 
{During this Chorus the Vision <?/Iskult of 

THE White Hands gradually appears 
through the drawn curtains. 

Iseult. Whence come those sweet sounds 
That fill the air? And thou, whose paler face 
Is fashioned like mine own, who art thou ? Speak ! 

Vision. My name is thine, I too am called Iseult, 
Iseult of the White Hands, whose marble touch 
Like thine hath power to heal. And where I dwell, 
In that far moonlit land towards whose pale coast 
All sails shall run for haven at the last. 
There too at last the sobbing seas shall bear him. 
And thou shalt seek him there. Yet, hearken now 
And store it in thy heart against that hour 
Thou shalt have need of it : whom thou hast healed, 
Though all unknowing, thou shalt wound again ; 
Whom thou hast wounded I alone may cure. 
Nay, ask no more, the end shall answer all. 

[Z)^^ Vision fades with a repeat of the unseen 

Chorus. At the end ISEUi^T rises. 

Iseult. Whom thou hast healed him thou shalt wound 
again. 
Ah no ! Ah no ! 



ACT II. 25 

Enter GouvERNAYLE quickly through doors L. 

Gouvernayle. Madam, the end is near, 
Malgrine hath fared no better than his fellows. 
There yet remains but one, Sir Morg-anore. 
Where is my master? 

Iseult. Hush, Sir, wake him not. 

Gouvernayle. I would some voice could wake him ! 
Then I think 
Sir Morg-anore were not the last to face 
This Pagan Lord. 

Iseult. Wherefore the more I pray 

He may sleep on ! I would not for the world 
That he rode forth to-day, where, if he fell. 
Then I should know for sure it was my hand 
That wrought his wound. See ! When he wakes 

again 
Bid him take this, 'twill win him back to sleep. 

\_She gives hint the phial^ then aside as she goes 
out. 
Whom thou hast wounded I alone may cure ! 
Is there no cure for me ? \^Exit R. 

Gouvernayle. Now of a truth 

That wound is deep already, and 'tis thou 
Hath struck the blow ! Yea, for thy sorcery, 
Undoing all thy healing art had won, 
Hath set new venom in that festering spot 
Where dwelt a loyal heart. He whom I served 
I know no longer, and those fearless eyes 
That never quailed at death, now lurk and hide 
Beneath a traitor's mask. Awake ! Awake ! 
Awake Sir Tristram, Lord of Lyonesse, 
It is thy King that calls thee, 'tis thine oath ; 
Hast thou forg:otten all ? Awake ! Awake ! 

\_He springs towards the curtain^ but as he does 

so Tristram draws it aside a7id stands 
revealed in armour. 



26 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT. 

Gouvernayle. My I/ord, thy pardon. 
Tristram, Nay, Sir, spare all words. 

Where is ray Squire ? 

Enter Squirk hurriedly L. 

Ah ! thou art here ! What now ? 
Squire. Sir Morg-anore is like to lose the day. 
All eyes are turned upon the King- who stands 
As one who rules a realm of shattered dreams. 

Ti^istram, Go bid the Herald sound another chal- 
lenge — 

The last of all ! Go quickly ! Wait me there. 

[Exit Squire. 

[G0UVKRNAYI.K takes Tristram's sword and 
approaches hint. 

Gouvemayle. I<et these hands gird itround thee. 

Tristram. Not that sword, 

'Twere evil augury to wield for her 
The blade that wrought her woe — see this will serve. 
\_He lays his own sword in its sheath on the seat 
outside the curtained alcove and draws 

GouvERNAYI^E'S from its scabbard. 

Gouvemayle. God send thee victory. 

Tristram. Nay, Gouvemayle, 

There is no victory ! Whate'er is won 
I needs must yield again — so stands my vow. 
Ah, would that I were bound to some base I^ord 
And not to him I serve, whose loyal love 
Compels my love again ! Yet that were nought ! 
Though all were mine to win, yet all were lost 
The hour she learned the hated name of him 
Who slew Sir Moraunt. And that hour must come. 
Not yet! Not yet ! If she should ask of me. 
Say that I drank of this and fain would sleep 
The long night through. 

[He empties the phial on the ground. 



ACT II. 27 

The Squire enters and the challenge sounds without. 
^Squire, The challeng^e sounds, my Lord. 

The lists are ready. 

Tristram. Sir, and so am I. 

There is no hour to lose ; the waning day 
Draws swiftly to its close ; the end is near 
Nor shall I fail thee there. 

\_Exit Tristram with his Squire. 
\_The slanting rays of light take a sunset glow , 
Gouvernayle. At last ! At last ! 

Sir Tristram lives again. 

[Gouvernayle takes his stand by the drawn 
curtains^ as the sound of the challenge is 
heard without. ISEULT enters Ri\ 

Iseult. Dost hear that cry ? 

The final challenge sounds, yet none remain. 
To answer for me now ! How fares thy master ? 

Gouvernayle. I^ady, he fares well. His wound, 
methinks, 
Is cured at last. See you, he bade me say 
He had done thy bidding-. \_Holding up empty phial. 

Iseult. Then he sleeps again ? 

\She approaches the curtains^ but GouveRNAYLE 
intercepts her. 
Gouvernayle. And would not be disturbed. 

Iseult. Nay, have no fear 

I will not wake him. Go, Sir, leave me now 
And tell my Lord the King when all is done 
I shall await him here- [Gouvernayle hesitates. 

Did'st hear me, Sir ? 

Till then I'll guard thy master. [,Exit Gouvernayle. 

Aye, till then ! 
It is not long to wait, and yet too long; 
For all the vanished dreams of all my life 
Come trooping to this little nook of time, 



28 TRISTRAM AND ISEUL7. 

To take their leave of me. And all lie there, 
All buried there with him who heeds them not. 
Yet should I dare to g^aze upon that face 
That is their grrave, they'd g^row to life ag-ain 
And cheat my heart again. Yea but I will — 
For the last time, the last. 

She holds the curtain as though about to lift it 
when OrEN enters. 
Orqn. Sir Minstrel sleeps ? 

Iseult. He woke but once and now he sleeps ag-ain, 
The charm was thine. \_Holding up the emptied phial. 

Oren . But thine the sweeter skill 

First cured his wound. 

Iseult. Aye, it is cured at last ; 

He needs no service now. 

Oren. Yet ere he g-oes 

Would ^st thou not learn the name of this brave knight 
Thy care hath won to life. 

Iseult. Indeed I would. 

[Oren approaches her stealthily and points 
backward to the sword. 
Oren. Then draw that sword, methinks 'twill tell 

thee all. 
Iseult. No ! No ! That may not be. 
Oren . And wherefore not ? 

Iseult. Not two days past I sought to see that blade 
And he denied me. 

Oren. Why did he do so ? 

Iseult. I know not. 

Oren. Then I'll tell thee: writ in blood 

Upon that sword-blade stands Sir Moraunt's name. 
Iseult. \_In terror ^i What would' st thou say? 

Oren. Why this ! There on that couch, 

Drugged in a sleep that knows no haunting dream, 
There lies thy brother's murderer. 



ACT II. 29 

Iseult, Ah, no ! 

Or en. Draw forth that sword and prove it ! 
Iseult. \_Hesitates^ Nay, I cannot! 

Or en. Then I will draw it. 
Iseult. No. 

\She makes a Tnovement to stop her. 
Oren. Away ! 'Tis done ! 

\_She draws the sword which reveals the 
broken blade. With a cry of triumph 
she approaches ISEUlyT. 
Those eyes were fain to see this trusty sword 
Then look upon it now, and wonder not 
He did deny thee ! 'Twere not much to show ! 
Poor broken blade, and was thy master shamed 
To bare thee to the world ? Nay, while he sleeps 
We'll quick repair the fault. Why now 'tis done ! 

\She breaks off the fragment from the chain 
upon her neck and fits it in the vacant 
space ^ forcing ISKULT to gaze upon it. 
Iseult. Cast it away. 

Oren. Nay, take it in thy hand. 

And grip it well. It was Sir Tristram's sword. 
To-day 'tis thine ; he yields it up to thee. 
That hand hath healed him, won him back to life, 
Then 'tis for thee to take that life again. 

Iseult. Ah no ! I dare not. 

Oren. Dare not? Art afraid? 

Iseult. These hands were made for healing, not for 

hurt. 
Oren. And mine for vengeance. 

[Snatches the sword from ISEULT and moves 
quickly towards couch. \SK^V^ seizes her. 

Iseult. No, thou shalt not ! 

Oren . Why ? 

{They face 07ie another. ISKUivT's eyes drop. 
Iseult. I know not, yet thou shalt not ! 



30 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT, 

Oren. Out on thee ! \_Flinging her to her knees ^ 
' Not all the world should stay me ! 

iShe rushes to curtain and draws it aside^ 
finding the empty couch. 

What is this ? 

Iseult. Not there 1 

Oren. Not there ! Oh, craven coward knigfht, 
That daj-ed not wait to claim thy last desert ! 
Dost think that this can save thee ? Nay, not so, 
The king- shall know the truth. From out our ports 
No ship shall sail till vengeance claims its due. 

\She rushes off entrance down Z., leaving 
ISEUI.T on her knees. 

\_Cries are heard without amidst the blare of 
trumpets. 

Iseult. The end hath come at last 1 What matters 
now, 
For all is lost. 

Enter Brangwaine hurriedly. 

Brangwaine. Sweet lady, all is won 

Look up and stay thy tears ; there at the last 
When Morganore had fallen, a stranger knight, 
Clad in white armour, rode into the lists 
And wrested from that pagan Lord his shield. 
Aye, and his spear, aud cast him to the earth. 
Iseult. What stranger may that be ? 
Brangwaine. That none can tell, 

His name is kept till now. But see, the King 
Draws hither with the Court. To him at last 
This valiant Lord must needs declare his name. 

\_Amid growiitg cries of victory^ the King 
and all the KnightS and Dames enter 
and fill the hall. 

King. My child, our land is freed and so art thou. 
Where is this stranger? Go, Sir, bring him here. 



ACT 11. 31 

Herald. He comes, my I^ord. 

Tristram enters^ and as he lifts his hehn 
reveals his face to ISKULT. 

Iseult. [_Aside.~\ Too late ! 'Twere better far 

That he had fallen too. 

King. We thank thee, Sir» 

Not for ourselves alone, but most of all 
For her who owes thee all ; and there she stands I 
The fair Iseult, who but an hour ago 
We thought to lose for ever. Think not then 
We seek with empty service of mere words 
To pay our heavier debt. Not so, Sir Knight ! 
By this great victory, thou dost inherit 
The advantage of that oath was sworn to him 
Whomthou hast conquered. That same right is thine; 
Then claim what boon thou wilt. We needs must yield 
Whate'er thy tongue shall ask. 

Tristram. There is no boon 

That I have right to ask. 

King. Yea, but there is 

That right sits in thy sword. Then speak thy will. 

Enter Herai^d quickly. 

Herald. My Lord, there waits without a Cornish 
Lord 
Who claims thy favour. 

King. Nay, no favour waits 

For any Cornish Lord, unless perchance 
He wearies of his life. 

j5';2/^r Andred. 

What seek you here ? 
Aiidred. I seek Sir Tristram, Lord of Lyonesse. 

\The Queen has entered^ holding Tristram's 
broke^i sword in her hand.^ 



32 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT, 

King, We know him not, or know him only as a 
-coward knight, 
Whom we do wait to slay. 

Or en. Not so, my I^ord, 

We know him well ! and here I yield him back 
That traitor's sword that struck Sir Moraunt down. 
Iseult. Ah, say it is not thine. 
King. Declare thy name ! 

TrisPram. My name is Tristram, Lord of I^yonesse. 
Iseult. Then all was true ! 

All, Now let the traitor die I 

Andred, Aye, traitor truly ! Where, Sir, is thy 
trust. 
Where stands that pledge thou gavest to King- Mark ? 
Tristram, I do discharge it here. 

\_Turning to Gormon. 
^ Here, before all, 

I who have won this day, now claim that boon 
Thy lips may not refuse. 

Oren. No boon but death ! 

A curse upon thee and thy master too. 
All, Yea, let him die ! 

King, Nay, Sirs, our oath must stand. 

\_Turning to Tristram. 
What is that boon ? 

Tristram, Thy daughter, fair Iseult ! 

[Iseult starts forward, Tristram continues. 
To be the royal bride of him I serve. 

[Iseult swoons in the arms of Brangwaine as 
the curtain falls. 



Curtain. 



ACT III. 

The lyOVE Draught. 

Scene : — On board the ' ' Swallow. ' ' The front of the 
stage is occupied by the centre of the ship^ where 
IseuLT's cabin is situated. At the back is the 
raised forepart of the vessel^ the tall mast rising 
from the upper deck. At the opening of the act 
the large sail is lowered^ disclosing in the sky the 
glimmerings of a grey dawn^ with a view of the 
sea after storm. The light grows gradually as 
the act progresses. During the chorus with which 
it opens the Sailors are seen hoisting the sail^ 
which has been lowered durijig the hurricane. 
GouvERNAYLE is down stage. Tristram, at the 
back^ leans over the side of the ship^ with eyes 
turjied seaward. 

Sailors' Chorus. 

Above the mast one single star 

Still loiters in the dawn, 
Beyond the dusk one lamp afar 

Burns on an upland lawn. 
Then a little more ! and a little way ! 

Yeo ho ! Hearts ! Ho ! Yeo ho ! 
Bre the Swallow's bows shall round the bay, 

Yeo ho ! Hearts ! Ho ! Yeo ho ! 

Haul away ! 

Across the scudding: g-ale one cry 
Comes seaward o'er the foam ! 



34 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT. 

One voice that sobbing^ bade gfood-bye 

Now laughing: calls us home ! 
Then a little way ! and a little more ! 

Yeo ho ! Hearts ! Ho ! Yeo ho ! 
Bre the Swallow's keel shall touch the shore, 

Yeo ho ! Hearts ! Ho ! Yeo ho ! 

Haul away! 

Gouvernayle. \To the MASTER of the ship^ who ap- 
proc^ches him from the upper deck.'] Is the storm 
spent ? 

Master. Aye ! 'tis rattled out at last ! God be 
praised ! 

Gouvernayle. Shall we not then hoist the sail once 
more and make the land? 

Master. They are about it, sir. Hear you not? 
These^fellows have already the taste of Cornish sand 
in their mouths, who but an hour ag-one were like to 
have drunk too deep of the brine. 

Gouvernayle. In truth the nig-ht was rank. It 
seemed as thougfh the heavens would split and fall 
into the sea. 

Master. We who have seen it shall not live to en- 
counter its fellow. \_CryingtotheSKi\^O^S^ Cheerly, 
my hearts, cheerly! \_He comes down again to Gou- 
VERNAYivE and speaks in lower voiced *Twas whis- 
pered amongst 'em that this Irish maid had set a 
spell upon the ship, and that we should find no port 
but the oozy bed of the sea. 

Gouvernayle. Would they so speak of her who shall 
be their Queen ? 

Master. And yet a woman withal, Queen or no ! 
Mark you that. And wondrous fair, as you'll say? 
Aye, but so are they that dwell in the hollow of the 
whirlpool and lure good sailors down by the sound of 
wet harp-strings. Hark'ee, there's one aboard who 
will have it he saw such a sea-maid last night rise out of 



ACT IIL 35 

the foam ; and her face, so he swears it, was like unto 
this royal maid's. 

Gouvernayle. Out on him for a knave ! And on 
you who would traffic in such crazy chatter. 

Master. I am not to blame, /saw her not. And as 
for your maids who dwell on shore, fair or foul, I fear 
not one. For them, your sailor was ever your true, fit 
mate. He loves 'em and he leaves 'em. That's the 
royal way of love as we sailors count it ; and marvel 
only that kings should choose otherwise. And yet 
there be some of 'em so cunning-ly fashioned that not 
all the sea spilt on the round orb shall serve to keep 
honest men from the harm of 'em. 

Gouvernayle. To your work, good Master. To your 
work and leave this idle babble. Dost hear me ? 

Master. Aye, aye, sir ! 

\Turning again to the Sailors «.y he goes 
up stage. 
Yare ! Yare, my hearts ! Steadily ! So ! 

Tristram comes down and meets him as he 
goes up. 

Tristram. Is your helm set for the land ? 

Master. Truly, m}^ Lord, and we shall make it 
speedily. The wind sits in the quarter. Cheerly, 
my hearts ! Cheerly ! \_Goes up and out of sight. 

Tristram. [Pointing back to group of Sailors as 
he approaches Gouvernayle.] Did'st hear these 
fellows ? They are all a-hung-er for the land again 
who, while they were on shore, would sing of nought 
but the sea. 

Gouvernayle. So was it ever, my Lord. 'Tis not 
what is, but what is to come that gives savour to life. 

Tristra^n. For them it may be, but 'tis not so here. 
What' s lost is all that' s left. Neither what is nor what 
may be can bring aught to me. 

Gouvernayle. Nay, nay, my Lord, thy master's love 
awaits thy coming. 



36 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT, 

Tristram, Yet that, too, were nigfhbeingf lost. Aye, 
that remains. I have kept mine oath ; and these eyes 
that were like to have been lowered in shame may now 
g-reet my Lord the King- once more in fearless wise. 

Gouvernayle. How think you she will greet him ? 

Trtstra77t. Most royally, as doth become the 
dang-hter of a king. 

Gouvernayle. Yet since that hour thy hand struck 
Pal amide to the earth she hath never uttered word. 

Tristram. 'Twas that same hour first taug-ht her 
what I am. 
For her these hands are red with Moraunt's blood ; 
Small wonder then she is dumb . Yet those veiled eyes 
That fall when I pass by as though they shunned 
Some sight that soils them, soon shall lift their light 
To greet this new-won glory. 

Gouvernayle. So they should. 

Yet oft-time I have feared her dumb lips g-uard 
Some darker purpose ! 

Tristram,. Wherefore think you so ? 

Gouvernayle. Last night when all was blackest 
here she stood 
With fearless eyes fixed on the raging- sea. 
And when the gale ran shrieking: through the shrouds. 
And all had thought the ship must part in sunder 
So wildly blew the winds, 'twas then I saw 
A smile upon her face as though she owned 
Some kinship with the storm. 

Tristram,. Was Brang^waine there ? 

Gouvernayle. Close by her side ; fast holding: to 
her breast 
That carven cup which Oren, Ireland's Queen, 
Hath sent as bridal offering: to King Mark. 

Tristram. May be she dreamed of him ! 

Gouvernayle. Aye, but what dream? 

Tristram. Or haply smiled to think though death 
should come 



AC7 in. 37 

'Twould come for all, and first of all for him 
Whose hated imag-e blackens out the past. 

Enter Brangwaine, bearing in her hand a 
carven cup. 

What would you, Lady? 

Brangwaine. Good my Lord, my mistress 

Did bid me ask of thee what course we make 
And if the end be near ? 

Tristram. Aye, very near ! 

Gouvernayle. See what new-sweetened breezes fan 
our sail. 
Within the hour we shall be safe in port ! 
Brangwaine. I thank thee, Sir ! 

Tristram. Is she so eager, then, 

To g-reet her new-found Lord ? 

Brangwaine. My Lord, I know not; 

I have but done her bidding. 

Tristram. So shall we all! 

For is she not our Queen? Go, tell her then 
The trouble of the toiling- sea is over, 
The land draws near at last. 

\_He goes up to the fore-part of the ship^ 
leaving Brangwaine and Gouvernayle. 

Brangwaine. So Heaven be praised! 

That hath saved us from this peril. Once I feared 
Last night mig-ht prove our last ; and the white seas 
Would swallow ship and all i 

Gouvernayle. Nay, fear no more. 

Neither for her nor for that royal gift 
Those hands hold fast. Is it so finely wrought. 
This wedding cup, thou bearest to our King? 
Nay, but I'll warrant you our Cornish craft 
Can match its carven wonders ! 

Brangwaine. Haply so! 

Then count the cup for nought ! Yet count it all ; 



38 TRISTRAM AND LSEULT. 

For, sealed within it, lurks a precious draug-ht 
Sweeter than sweetest wine, and were that lost 
Then all" perchance were lost, and nougfht but shame 
Should wait on those we. serve ! \_She sets down the 
cup. 

Gouvernayle. What shame can touch 

My Lord, Sir Tristram ? Who with stainless brow 
And faith unshaken, bears across the seas 
This roy^l bride ? 

Brangwaine. None, Sir, if but that bride 
Cleave closely to her lyord. 

Gouvernayle. What ? Think you then 

Her heart might turn ag^ain towards him whose 

sword 
Proclaimed him what he was ? That peril's past : 
Sir Moraunt's blood hath set a crimson cord 
'Twixt hei;and him that bars the way of love. 
And shall for ever bar it, God be praised ! 
When first Iseult beheld that splintered steel 
My heart leapt up within me, for I knew 
Whatever softer thoughts once filled her breast 
That sword had slain ! And only hate dweft there. 

Brangwaine. Haply thou art right, yet in a 
maiden's heart 
It sometimes chances though she knows it not. 
That love and hate lie closely side by side. 
So we are fashioned. 

Gouvernayle. Aye, and so would wreck 

The souls of men who dream, because ye are weak, 
That they, forsooth, are strong. Is there no cure 
For this accursed thing the world calls love ? 

Brangwaine. Aye, Sir, the cure lies there ! There 
in that cup ! 
'Tis love must conquer love, nought else beside 
Can break its fetters. So Queen Oren deemed — 
Whose cunning hands distilled that magic wine 
Wherein Iseult and Mark shall pledge their troth. 



ACT III. 39 

For when they have drunk of it, from that day forth 
Those twain shall cleave together heart to heart 
And soul to soul, till at the last Death comes 
To end what else were endless. Say 3^ou then — 
Have I done well to g-uard this carve n cup ? 

Gouvernayle. Yea, trul}^, all the wine of all the 
South 
Were not so precious ! Knows thy lady this ? 

Brangwaine, Nay, by mine oath I am pledged to 
hold it from her 
Till all be sure ! She doth but know she is sworn 
To do her mother's bidding-. lyook, she comes ! 

Enter ISEULT. 

Iseult, What saith the Lord of the ship ? May we 
not know 
What course we make ? 

Brangwaiiie, Sweet mistress, all is well, 

Our journey nears its end ! 

Gouver7iayle. Nay! Rather say 

'Tis ended now ; the wind sets towards the land 
And we are home ! 

Iseult. Why then I piray you, Sir, 

Bear him our thanks. 

[Gouvernayle goes foi^ward to the fore-pan 
of the vessel. 

Brangwaine. See, where on either side 

The shore puts forth an arm to hold us safe 
From the waves' onslaught ! 

Iseult. Nay, I love the v/aves, 

The shore is all I dread. Had I my will 
I would the sea were landless, that our ship 
Might sail from dawn to dark, from dark to dawn, 
And find no port ! 

Brangwaine. Last night indeed I feared 

That fate might well be ours ! 

Iseult. Was it so ? 

Stood death so near ? 



40 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT. 

Brangwahie. Sweet lady, very near. 

But now the night is past. 

Iseult, Ah, call it back! 

For I would see once more that fairer face 
That g-reets me as mine own. 'Twas there last 

night. 
There, while the storm ran riot through the skies. 
With fearless feet, across the foaming floor. 
She drew towards me, till those snow-white hands 
Were raised above my head. 'Twas then I cried 
" Stretch forth an arm and touch me." " Nay, not 

yet—" 
So came her answer back — "Not yet, not yet! 
I heal all wounds and thou all wounds save one. 
Thou dost not need me yet." And as she spake 
A sudden^ silence fell upon the sea. 
The conquered waves went sobbing back to sleep 
And, with the dying whisper of the gale, 
She passed into the night, till nought was there 
But those white hands uplifted in the dark. 
Like two twin sails that winged their way to Heaven. 
Would I had found that way ! 

Brangwaine. Ah, speak not so ! 

Those phantom spectre shapes that pace the night. 
Can harm thee now no more, the clouds are past ! 
The storm is spent, and see ! a new day dawns. 

Iseult. Aye, all too soon ! 

Brangwaine. Too soon ? Hast thou forgot 

What glory waits thee there ? 

Iseult, Nay, Brangwaine, nay ! 

I do remember all. 

Brangwaine, Then lift thine eyes 
That, in a little space, shall there behold 
That royal Lord who waits to crown thee Queen. 
Art thou not named the fairest of the earth ? 
Then let him find thee so ! 



ACT III, 41 

Iseult. And so he shall. 

Bring- me my robe. 

[Brangwaine takes the royal robe that is set 
ready and puts it up07i the shoulders of 
ISKULT. 

Fair raiment makes all fair — 
Yet in thine eyes I see there's something lacking! 
Brangwaine. Dear lady, no ! 

Iseult. Aye, but I know there is ! 

Within our woods once grew a milk-white flower 
That bore a poisoned berry ! Were it here 
I'd bind it round my brows : its beauty then 
Would fitly sort with mine. But this shall serve •' 
\^She takes the diadem which Brangwaine holds 
out to her a7td sets it on her brozvs. 
What say you? Am I fit to mate with him 
Who rules in Cornwall ? 

Brangwaine. Never king on earth 

Yet won so fair a bride ! 

Iseult. But we forget ! 

There's one thing more. Where is Queen Oren's 

gift 
To him who waits to crown me ? 

Brangwaine. \_Pointing to cup^ It stands there. 
Iseult. Then set it ready and those goblets too. 
He may not halt nor tarry who, to-day, 
Would pledge his troth with mine ! 

[Brangwaine takes the goblets and places them 
on either side of the carve^i cup. Without 
turning ISEULT calls to her. 

Come hither, Brangwaine! 

\With eyes fixed upon her face^ Brangwaine 
approaches her^ half i^i terror. 
What is it lurks within that carven cup ? 
Brangwaine. Sweet wdne, dear mistress ! 
Iseult, Aye, and in the wine ? 



42 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT. 

Brangwaine. Ask me not that' Did the Queen 

tell thee naug-ht ? 
Iseult. Naught as she deemed! Yet this hath told 

me all ! 

\_She goes up and takes the cup^ reading the 
words that are graven around its rim. 
Those twain who drink of this sweet wine shall 
dream 
An endiess dream that knows no waking- here." 
"And in that hour," she said, "if thou should' st pause 
Think on thy brother Moraunt, and drink deep '" 

\_She puts down the cup. 
And so I shall, though well I know what dream 
There waits us both ! The Queen is pitiless. 
But for my father's oath she would have slain 
This knight. Sir Tristram. Yet, though he must live 
Her veng^eance sleeps not; but with poisoned aim 
Now strikes the King, his master! [Pointing to the cup. 

Death lies there! 
And I who deemed these hands were made to heal 
Now stand Death's minister! 
Brangwaine. Ah, think not so ! 

Iseult. Yea, but I am, and Oren judged aright. 
It was King Mark struck Moraunt to the earth! 
Tristram but held the blade; the blow that fell 
Came from his master's hand. Is it not so? 

Brangwaine. Iseult, I may not answer Yea or Nay, 
For so my lips are sealed! Thy mother's word 
Must stand for all. Yet haply that same dream 
Shall have a sweeter ending. 

Iseult. There is none 

That can be half so sweet. For, once these hands 
Have done her bidding, life is naught to me, 
Who am borne across the seas, a captive bride. 
To this proud Lord I know not. Death alone 
Can heal that wound I bear! 



ACT III. 43 

Brangwaine. Iseult! Iseult! 

Drink deep and have no fear. 

Iseult. How should they fear 

That have no hope? Go call Sir Tristram hither. 

Brangwaine. Sir Tristram ! 

Iseult. Aye, Sir Tristram, so he is named. 

Did'st thou not say we neared our journey's end? 
'Tis fitting then we pay our fee in thanks 
To him who hath borne us here! 

[Brangwaine who has gone up now retur^is. 

Why dost thou pause ? 
Brangwaine. lyook well his lips touch not that 
magic wine. 
It was not brewed for him. 

Iseult. Now that one word 

Had I known naught beside, would tell me all. 
Nay, death is not for him. Go, call him here. 

[Brangwaine goes up to the fore- part of the 
vessel^ and as she does so ISEULT goes to the 
bench where stands the cup and pours the wine 
it contains into the two goblets. While she is 
doing this the voices of the Sailors singing 
are heard again from- the fore-part of the ship. 
Sailors^ Chorus. 

What calls us home. 

Home from the sea? 

Sailors are we. 

Sailors and free 
Sea-ward to roam — 
What calls us home? 

Grey eyes and blue. 

Red lips and true, 

Old loves and new! — 
Straight o'er the foam, 
I^ove calls us home, 

Home from the sea. 



44 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT, 

Iseult. lyove calls ye home! Nay, Sirs, 'tis hate, 
not love 
That steers your good ship now ! [Tristram comes 
down . 

Ah, thou art here ? 

Tristram. Did'st thou not send for me? 

Iseult. \_With a touch of scorn in her tone. ^ Most 
like I did! 
I am ihy Queen and may command thee. Sir. 

Tristram. In all things to the end. 

Iseult. That end draws near. 

So Brangfwaine told me. 

Tristram. Brangwaine told thee well. 

Straight on our course Tintagel's mitred towers 
Already carve the saffron fields of dawn. 
The wind and storm have made the journey weary; 
But ali is over now. 

Iseult. Not yet, my lyord. 

'Tis thou dost rule this ship? Is it not so? 

Tristram. Yea, truly ! 

Iseult. So I thought, and all obey thee. 

Then bid these sea-worn mariners who sing 
Of love and home, go put the helm about. 
And flee the land! 

Tristram. I fear that may not be ! 

Iseult. Why not, when I command thee ? 

Tristram. There is one 

That doth command us both. 

Iseult. Thy Lord, the King? 

Is that what stays thee ? Not in all the world 
Was ever master yet so humbly served ! 
Thou needs must love him well ! 

Tristram. As thou shalt too 

When he hath crowned thee Queen ! 

Iseult. Then tell me, sir. 

Was it thy love for Mark that bade thee bring 
This shame upon our land ? 



ACT HI, 45 

Tristram. What shame? 

Iseult. What shame? 

So then thou hast forgfot that Moraunt died. 

Tristram. I would I could forg^et. 

Iseult. Thou can'st not ! No, 

Nor we who are his kin, and saw him die! 
Think then it was forg^otten in that hour, 
When 'neath thy strong^er arm. Sir Palamide 
Fell stricken to the earth? 

Tristram. I think not so! 

Iseult. Nay, but King Gormon's oath still left 
thee free. 
Who else had paid death's forfeit! Aye, 'twas so! 
And then, when fearing^ naug^ht, thy lips dared ask, 
What he might not refuse — think you that Time 
Had laid to sleep the bitter memory 
Of Moraunt' s death? 

Tristram. Indeed, I think not so. 

For well I know that bitter memory 
Still lives to-day, and shall outlast all time. 

Iseult. And, yet for all, thou still would'st serve 
thy King? 

Tristram. As needs I must ! 'Tis all that's left to 
me. 

Iseult. Then, of thy love for him that is so great. 
Go put the helm about and flee the land! 

Tristram. I cannot! 

Iseult. Cannot.*^ Harken then to me : 

That oath of vengeance sworn so long ago. 
Were I not all too weak, had long ago 
Been satisfied. Thy valour saved thee then! 
Thy valour and King Gormon's plighted word. 
Yet know, though thou art free, that oath endures. 
And the sword's point that found the servant armed 
May haply strike his master. 

Tristram. What means this ? 



46 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT 

Iseult. Dost see that cup ? It is my mother's gift 
To Mark the King-. And that sweet wine it holds 
My lyord and I shall drink in joyous pledge 
Of our betrothal. 

Tristram. Nay, I know it well. 

Iseult. Yet know'st not all. Read what is writ 

thereon ! 
Tristram. \_Holding cup in his hand^ "Those 
twain who drink of this sweet wine shall dream 
An endless dream that knows no waking here.'^ 
Iseult. Can'st thou not guess that dream? I'll tell 
thee then ; 
'Tis death ! 

Tristram. What sayest thou, Death ? 

Iseult. Aye, in that wine 

Lies life's one secret none can ever know 
Till Death unbars the door, and Death waits there 1 
'Tis naught to me, for life is naught to me ! 
And haply naught to thee whose life is safe ! 
Yet thou dost love thy King. 

Tristram. And dost thou think 

That I would shield myself and slay my lyord ? 

Iseult. Then put the helm about and flee the land. 

Tristram. There is a better way. 

Iseult. ' What way ? 

Tristram. Ah, why 

When I lay stricken on the verge of death, 
Why did* St thou heal that wound which but for thee 
Had wrought thy vengeance then? 

Iseult. I know not ! 

Tristra m . Why , 

Why did'st thou stay thy mother's vengeful hand, 
More merciful than thine, that would have slain me? 

Iseult. I know not ! Nay, I know not ! 
Tristram. Then I'll tell thee. 

Thy deeper love for Moraunt, who had died, 



ACT III, 47 

Dreamed of a deeper shame for him whose sword 
Had struck him down. Yea, well thou know'st 'tis 

so ! 
Set in thy heart there dwelt this fiercer hate ; 
*' 'Tis not enougfh that this poor knight should die ! 
Nay, he shall live, and bear upon his brow 
The brand of coward, traitor, and what else 
Shall link his name with endless infamy ! ' ' 
So had'st thou dreamed; but so it shall not be! " 
For here I bare my breast and take that blow 
Was meant for him I serve ! Strike hard and deep ! 
Thou has no pity left — those healing hands 
Should own their sterner office. 

Iseult. Nay, I cannot ! 

Tristram. Doth hate so move thee still ! Why, 
see you then 
I am no traitor ! This shall make amends. 
For here in full atonement for what's gone 
I drink that poisoned cup was meant for him, 
My Lord. 

[_He goes up stage and seizes one of the goblets. 
She makes a move7nent to stop him^ but as 
she does so he drains it dow7i. 
Iseult. Ah, no ! 

Tristram. Tis done ! Iseult, farewell ! 

\_He comes down stage with eyes gazing out- 
ward as one waiting the call of Death. 
As he staitds there she moves softly up stage 
and drains the other cup. 
Iseult. " Whom thou hast healed, him shalt thou 
wound again." 
So this then is the end ! Tristram, farewell ! 
Tristram. What has thou done? 
Iseult. As thou hast ! Fare thee well. 

\They stand apart and in silence as the voices 
of the Sailors are heard at the back softly 
singing. During the chorus the faces of 



48 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT, 

Tristram and Iseult reveal the soft 
beginning of the mystic spell that is work- 
ing within theTfi^ and as they standi their 
faces gradually transfigured^ the light 
increases till the scene is flooded with a 
golden dawn. 

'Saii^or's Chorus, 

* New breezes spring 

Across the foam, 
The Swallow's wingf 

Is spread for home ! 

Day shines afar 

And nigfht is past, 
The harbour bar 
* Is won at last ! 

Tristram. They singf of day ! 

Iseult. Yet 'tis the night that comes ! 

Tristram. Yea, truly, so it is. Then hasten night. 
Unbar this golden prison men call day ! 

Iseult. Nay, look again, it hath the grace of dawn ; 
The stars are flushed with crimson, and the sky 
Holds some new light I know not. 

Tristram. Through the dusk, 

The way shines clearly that shall lead us on. 
And who are they that wander hand in hand 
Within that shadowy wood? They come in troops. 
With cheeks still wet with weeping ! Who are they ? 

Iseult. I see them not ! Thou hast gone on before 
Where I must follow thee. Ah, now I see ! 
They also trod the way that waits for us ! 
Wilt thou too take this hand? All's over now, 
It cannot harm thee more ! 

\_She holds out her hand^ he takes it in his. 

Tristram,. It healed me once ! 



ACT III. 49 

Iseult. And wounded thee ag^ain ! Aye, past all 
cure ! 

Tristram. The cure is here at last. L/Ook where 
the sea 
Breaks into flower and all the whitened foam 
Is strewn with blossom ! Springy is here a§:ain ! 

Iseult. Can this be Death's roug^h road? 

Tristram. An' if it be, 

Then Death and lyife are one, and Death and Love ! 
For, look you, Love stands there; with rose-crowned 

brows, 
He passes 'midst those shadowy forms, whose eyes 
Are lifted up to g-reet him as he g^oes ! 

Iseult. Oh Death, come quickly; end what needs 

must end ! 
Tristram. " Those twain who drink of this sweet 

wine shall dream — " 
Iseult. " An endless dream that knows no waking 

here." 

\_She leans towards him^ her head sinking on his 
breast as the chorus is repeated softly. 

Day shines afar, 

The nigfht is past. 
The harbour bar 

Is won at last. 

Tristram. Aye, won at last ! 

Iseult. At last ! It was no dream ! 

Tristram. Iseult, I love thee ! 

Iseult. As I love thee too. 

And shall for ever love thee ! 

Tristram. From this hour 

We twain shall cleave togfettier heart to heart. 

Iseult. Aye, soul to soul, till Death indeed shall come 
And sweetly end us both ! 



50 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT, 

Enter Brangwaink who sees the empty goblets^ and 
. comes in terror to ISEULT's side. 

Brangwaine. What hast thou done ? 

Iseult. Nay, ask what have we won ? 

Brangwaine. Ah, woe is me ! 

That ever I was born into the world ! 
Sorrow and shame await thee. 

Iseult. lyove is here ! 

[GouvERNAYLE comes rapidly to Tristram's 
side. 

Gouvernayle. My I^ord, we are safe in port. 

Tristram. Aye, safe in port ! 

Gouvernayle. The Kingf is here to greet thee. 

Tristram. 'Tis the King-! 

Brangwaine. [Tl? ISEULT.] It is thy lyord. Dost 

hear me ? 

Iseult. Aye, my Lord ! 

[Tristram and\sz\5Vt stand apart as though 
in a trance^ meanwhile the sail has been 
lowered and discloses the raised prow of 
the ship thronged with SAII.ORS and with 
Knights and Dames. The song of the 
Saii^ors breaks out joyously . 

What draws us home. 

Home from the sea ? 

Grey eyes and blue. 

Red lips and true. 

Old loves and new ; 
Straight o'er the foam 
lyove draws us home 

Home from the sea. 

[^Through the song shouts and cries from 
the crowd at the back^ which jnakes way at 
the approach of Mark, who steps on to tlie 



ACT III. 51 

ship from the quay ^ *' The Kingf'' *' The 
King / " " The King is here ! ' ' 

[Tristram and Iseul,t still stand motionless 
as Mark comes between them. 

Mark. Welcome, Sir Knight, and thou my peerless 
Queen. 



CURTAIN. 



ACT IV. 

The Wound Incurable. 

Scene I. 

Scene: — An apartment ifi King Mark's Castle at 
Tintagel. Window to R. with entrance above it. 
Entrance L. Doors C. 

Enter R, Arganthael, <a!«^ >^^r Waiting Woman. 

Arganthael. [To Waiting Woman.] Go to my 
chamber and await me there. If one should ask for 
me, hold him close and bear me word of it. 

Waiting Woman. I will, my lady. [Exit L. 

Enter Andred R. 

Arganthael. Is the Kingf returned? 

Andred. Aye, and keeps his room, vowing he will 
see none but Tristram. 

Arganthael. Who is not here. 

Andred. Yesterday at noon Sir Tristram rode to 
the chase, and hath not since been seen. 

Arganthael. Say you so ? Our woods are rich in 
g^ame and Tristram loves the chase. 

Andred. Truly, and yet he would not hunt by 
nigfht. 

Arganthael. Who knows he would not? 

Andred. What mean you? 

Arganthael. That you shall know to-night. For 
the time the King must see no one — nor Tristram, 
nor these I^ords who now accuse us. 

Andred. They wait to see him now. 



ACT IV. 53 

Argajithael. So let them wait. Doth he yet know 
the charg^e they bear against us ? 

Andred. Aye, and says no word; yet in his silence 
lies that which threatens more than speech. There's 
noug-ht can save us now. All that we schemed 
'gainst Tristram is blazoned through the land. 'Tis 
known we held back the news of Gormon's oath that 
day he set sail for Ireland. Yet that's not the worst; 
for we may not now deny that; while he tarried 
there, we openly accused him of treason to the King. 

Arganthael. And if we still could prove it? 

Andred. Yea, but we cannot. 

Enter Waiting Woman. 

Waiting Woman. Madam! 

Arganthael. What is it now ? 

Waiting Woman. There's come one from the 
forest who doth plead 
To see thee instantly. 

Arganthael. What like is he ? 

Waiting Woman. A poor mis-shapen thing that 
scarcely tops 
The stature of a child, yet on his face 
Stands a swart growth of beard. 

Arganthael. At last! 'Tis he ! 

Go bear him to my room. {^Exit Waiting Woman. 

Andred. Who is this hind ? 

Arganthael. 'Tis the dwarf Ogrin who's but half 
a man. 
Yet very cunning in all woodland craft, 
Who bears us hither news of Tristram's hunting 
The King may care to learn. 

Andred. What can he know ? 

Arganthael. Something beyond our hope, beyond 
our dream. 
Last night, as the moon rose, a stranger Lord 



54 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT 

Sought the Queen's forest bower where none hath 

leave 
To break the lonely vig^il that she keeps 
In grief for Moraunt's death. 
Andred. Where doth this tend? 

ArganthaeL Art thou so blind, my I^ord, and 
can'st not see 
The net draws close at last ? This stranger I^ord 
Is Tr^tram. 

A n dred. Tristram ! 

ArganthaeL Aye, Sir, it is he 

Who 'neath the moon doth visit Iseult's bower 
Night after night ; and this mis-shapen dwarf 
Who tracked him there shall lead us there again 
To-night, with Mark. 

* Enter Mark. 

Mark, Hath Tristram not returned ? 

ArganthaeL Not yet, my lord. 

Mark, 'Tis strange ! ' 

ArganthaeL Nay, not so strange. 

Oft-times of late he hath ridden forth alone. 

Mark. Where is Sir Dinas ? 

Andred, He and all his crew ' 

Wait there without. 

Mark. I'd have Sir Tristram here. 

Here close beside me, when these angry Lords 
Appear before us ! So the world shall know 
That constant love we bear him. And ye too ! 
Ye too shall know it ! Our resolve is fixed. 
From this day forth it is the King that speaks ! 
lyct all who have sought to use our majesty 
For ends that are their own, look to themselves ! 
Their cause is none of ours. What would 'st thou 

say? 
' ' It was the King who urged thee? " Then thou liest ! 



AC7 IV. . 55 

And so these Lords shall learn! There is no word, 
No word these lips have uttered that hath breathed 
Aug^ht evil agfainst Tristram. 

Andred. , Not one word. 

Mark. Thou can'st not say I have not loved him 
well! 

Arganthael. Nay! All too well! Would Heaven 
he had deserved 
One tithe of that great love ! 

Mark. Thou knowest he does, 

And well I know it too. 

Andred. Thou knowest it not ! 

Tristram is doubly false ! 

Arganthael. Yet speak no word ; 

'Tis best to hold our peace. Thoug^h he be false 
The King: still loves him. Wherefore then should we 
Destroy this worshipped image, though it bears 
Naught but the painted mimicry of truth ! 

Mark. Ah, Madam, this poor trick shall not avail 
thee, 
He hath been tried too well, and with each trial 
His fame but shines more brightly. There is nought, 
And soothe I know it now, can prove him false ! ^. 
Nor greed of gold, it hath no gleam for him; 
Nay, no ambition, for it tempts him not ! -^— 
Nor fear, whose valor stands beyond reproach ! *" 

Arganthael.' It is not always fear that makes men 
false. 

Mark. What is it, then, should move him ? 

Arganthael. In that hour, 

When Eden's blossom turned to sudden fruit, 
She, from whose sin our world hath its beginning, 
Left to all time to come one fatal dower 
Which since hath wrecked the world : that poisoned 

cup 
Of deadly sweetened wine, v/hich whoso drinks 
Is oft times fearless, aye, and oft-times false ! 



56 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT 

Mark. What lurks beneath thy speech ? I'll know 
thy thought 
Though- 1 should tear it from thee : speak, I say ! 

Arganthael. Thy Royal bride Iseult is fashioned 
fair 

Beyond all dream of beauty ! 

Mark. Well, what then? 

Arganthael, Is it not strange such beauty breeds 
not love ? 

That sdl her days should pass in ceaseless grief 
Which still delays that happier hour when thou 
Shalt share her couch ? 

Mark. What's done is by our leave, 

Who see in this great love for Moraunt dead, 
The promise of still richer love for us 
When grief shall yield to joy. 

Arganthael. 'Tis a sweet thought. 

Andrtd. Yet, what. Sir, would'st thou say if thou 
should'st know 
Her chamber door, that is shut close on thee, 
lyies open to another. 

Mark. 'Tis not true ! 

Arganthael. Yea, but it is: and that same valiant 
lord 

Who nightly wins his way to her embrace 

Once slew her brother Moraunt ! 

Ma rk . Tristram ? 

Arganthael. He ! 

Mark. This is some plot to snare me. 

Arganthael. If it be 

Then thou shalt judge us both. 

Mark. And so I will, 

And tear ye limb from limb ! 

Andred. Go forth to-night, 

Approve it on the warrant of thine eyes ! 

Mark. Or prove thee fale ! 

Arganthael. I do repent me now 

That aught was said. Though haply she be false 



ACT IV. 57 

Still she is fair ! Why then, forg^et all else ! 
Mark. Enoug-h ! Thou hast said enoug^h ! The 
very thought 
That other lips than mine have tasted hers, 
Doth gnaw and rankle like a poisoned wound 
That tears my heart. Yet, were that wound half 

cured 
Could I but know for sure that he was base ! 
Arganthael. And so thou shalt. 

\_She goes to door and speaks to her Waiting 
Woman. 

Bid Ogrin come to me ! 
Waiting Woman. Madam, I will. [_Exit. 

Arganthael. To-night beneath the moon. 

Thoul't find him in her bower. 

Enter Ogrin. 
Mark. What shape is this ? 

Arganthael. A creature of the forest, who knows 
well 
Each winding path that hunters love to tread. 

\To Ogrin. 
The King would find Sir Tristram, whom he loves, 
Think you your craft can set us on his trail ? 

O grill. Aye, if to-night he chance to take again 
The way he took last night. 
Mark. What way was that ? 

Ogrin. The way to the Queen's Bower. 

Enter HERALD. 

Herald. My lord ! 

Mark. What now? 

Herald. Sir Dinas waits your pleasure. 

Mark. Tell him, then, 

At noon to-morrow wjp'll receive him here. 
And say this more, that justice shall not halt. 
Where'er the bolt may fall. 

l^Exit Herald. 



58 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT, 

Andred. . The sun is down 

The fonest lies afar ! 

Mark. Command my horse ! 

]^Exit Andrkd. 

{_To Arganthaei..] Dost thou ride too ? 

Arganthael, Aye, surely, to the death. 

And when the hounds have killed, why then, my lord, 
I'll ask a boon of thee. 

Ma>k. And so thou shalt 

If by the fickle guidance of the moon. 
We chance to find the quarry ! 

Arganthael. As we shall! 

{They move to doors as the scene changes. 



SCKNE II. 

Scene : — Iseult's bower in the forest. The entra7tce 
that leads to the dwelling is down stage R.^ and 
the dwelling itself is either wholly hiddeit by trees 
or merely suggested by a portion of the turret seen 
above the trees. Beyond this entrance rises a rocky 
em^inence down which is a practicable path that 
leads to the stage. It is overgrown with trees^ 
through which the rays of the Tnoon fall on the 
scene. This rocky mound forms the nearer bank 
to a little stream, that falls behind it and flows 
across the scene from, R. to L.; and another bank 
rises beyond and projects further on the stage. 
In the centre a shelving bank borders the stream 
which lies here in a quiet pool,^ and then flows on 
till it falls into the bay that is seen between the 
trees on L. There are no entrances on L. which 
can be treated as though the rocks rose again 
with the stream, running beyond them, down- 



ACT IV. 59 

wards to the bay. The general effect of the 
scene is of an enclosed dark woodland bower in- 
tersected by a rivulet. 

At the opening of the scene ISKULT is discovered 
in the moonlight. She lies crouched down upon 
the shelving bank^ her face half in profile^ 
with her eyes bent upon the stream. By her 
side stands Brangwaine watching her mistress. 
Throughout the scene Brangwaink's manner has 
soTfiething of fateful forewarning. In the open- 
ing lines ISEULT has forgotten her presence and, 
without turning, calls as though to summon her 
from the dwelling. 

Iseult. Come hither, Brangwaine ! 
Brangwaine. Mistress, I am here ! 

Iseult. Come watch with me awhile ; these eyes are 
worn 
And dazed with g-azingf in the swirling: stream 
Yet dare not quit their office. Full an hour, 
Like some poor shipwrecked mariner who scans 
The desert main to find a friendly sail, 
They have swept the surface of this tiny sea — 
And all in vain ! 

Brangwaine. What is it seek they there ? 
Iseult. lyove's messenger, a little ship that sails 
Night after night and bears upon its prow 
It's master's name that is my master's too ! 

\She takes from, the bank beside her some slips 
of notched olive wood, and holds them, up 
to Brangwaine. 
See, here's a fleet of them; all safely docked, 
Their voyage done, they lie in haven now. 

\As she speaks she counts them over one by one. 
This was last night ! And this the night before ! 



60 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT. 

And this, and this — Nay, I'll not count them all. 
Frail craft in sooth ! Yet never argfosy 
Bore such a golden freight ! 

\She points upward to the cliff from which the 
stream descends. 

They're put to sea 
In yonder upland pool beyond the rock ; 
And, when the torrent bears them into port, 
I kno\t Sir Tristram's there, and doth but need 
My call to bring him hither. Every night 
He sends this signal and then waits to find 
The light that guides him homeward ; but to-night 
No ship comes o'er the main and in my heart 
Springs up a nameless fear ! 

Brangwaine. What fear? What fear ? 

Iseult, There is but one ! None else in all the 
wprld 
But just that one — that Tristram may not come. 
It was to-night he said ? 

Brangwtaine. Aye, 'twas to night, 

Is it not every night ? 

Iseult. And if it is ? 

Yet every night renews that self-same fear 
Lest last night were the last. The shadow, there, 
Had scarcely kissed that stone when yester-eve 
My galleon came to shore ; and now it falls — 
Slanting athwart the stream. 

Brangwaine. Be sure he'll come ! 

Iseult. I would I could be sure ! For that's love's 
pain — 
Its joy is never sure ! And even here, 
Here in this tiny sea, a storm may grow 
And scatter all ! 

Brangwaine. Aye, truly so it may ! 

Iseult. \_With sudden vehemence turning upon 
Brangwaine.] Nay, it may not ! There is no storm 
that blows 



ACT IV, 61 

Can wreck our love ! 

\_Then suddenly changing to a softer mood. 
Come watch with me ag-ain. 
\_She bends once more over the pool as Brang- 
WAINE kneels by her side. 
Dost see that feather fallen from the breast 
Of some lone dove ? How g^allantly it floats ! 
Ah ! little ship sail on, for haply thou 
Art also gfolden-laden and dost bear 
Love's message too ! And there a star-shaped flower 
The stream hath kissed too roughly. See, 'tis 

drowned. 
Is that an evil omen ! No, ah, no ! 
My ship is safe in port ! Safe, safe in port ! 

\With a cry of joy she leans over and draws 
from the stream a little piece of notched 
olive wood which she holds dripping in 
the moonlight. She rises from the bank 
and shows it to Brangwaine. 

See here, and here, my master's name and mine 
Carved rudely in the bark ! Then he is here ! 
Sir Tristram's here at last ! Now I could wait 
An hour, a day, a year, and when he came 
Still vow 'twas all too soon ! Ah, but I could ! 

\Then with a sudden change of mood. 
Go quickly, Brangwaine. Quickly, dost thou hear ? 
And set the lamp within my turret chamber. 
Add that one star to those that deck the night — 
Ivove's star that leads him home. Then hasten 

back. 
'Twould seem a year if I should wait alone 
Till he be come ! 

Brangwaine. When once that lamp is lit 

'Twill not be long to wait. 

{Exit R. 
ISEULT alone. 



62 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT, 

Iseult. Aye, but it will I 

An. ag^e L an age ! And then when he is by, 
The hurrying- hours, racing toward the dawn^ 
Will seem but one brief moment ! Only one, 
Yet all a lifetime's there: for love is there ! 
At whose command this little hidden bower 
Glows like a lighted palace in the gloom, 
And ev^ry darkened alley af the wood 
Holds up a fairy lamp. Then, when he's gone, 
Those envious shadows, that Love held at bay, 
Creep o'er the narrow empire of the moon 
And all grows dark again ! 

[Brangwaine returns softly^ ISEULT hears 
and half in fear calls without turning. 

Iseult. Whose step was that ? 

Brangwaine. Nay, fear not, it is I. The lamp is 
lit : He will not tarry now. 

[ISEUI^T stands watching her own shadow 
cast by the moon upon the grass. 

Iseult. Draw nearer, Brangwaine ; 

Dost see that image printed on the grass ? 
That is Iseult ! Look you, she's lonely now — 
Yet, if we watch awhile may be we'll see 
Another image creep beside her there. 

[Brangwaine draws closer so that her 
shadow falls beside that of ISEUI^T, who 
half playfully motions her away. 

Nay ! Nay ! Not thine, but his ! And when I see 
That shadowy Iseult uplift her face 
Then I'll lift mine, and haply I shall find 
His lips upon mine eyelids ! Until then 
I will not stir nor breathe ! 

Brangwaine. Iseult ! Iseult ! 

Last night I saw another shadow there 
That was not his nor thine ! 

Iseult. \_Half in terror^ What dost thou say ? 



ACT IV, 63 

Brangwaine. Ye twain were gone within and I 
remained, 
Watching: alone here, close beneath this tree 
Whose lacing- branches patterned by the moon, 
I^ay like a broidered dream upon the grass ; 
So still was all the night ! Yet, as I gazed 
Amidst those silent shadows there was one 
Bent and mis-shapen like a twisted bough 
That shifted from its place; I dared not move. 
Nay, scarce dared breathe, for in the dumb night air 
My breathing found an echo, 

Iseult. \_Clinging to her.^ What was there ? 

Brangwaine, I know not; for that echo died away 
And from the forest came a whispered sound 
As though a panther crept o'er fallen leaves 
Then all was still again ! 

Iseult, 'Twas nought but that! 

Ah ! fright me not to-night ! Some vagrant beast 
Had stepped across the pathway of the moon — 
It was no more. 

Brangwaine. Pray Heaven it was no more, 
For all my days are haunted by the fear 
Of ill that may befall thee. It was I, 
And woe the hour ! — who set that fatal draught 
Ye drank and thought was death. 

Iseult, And through Death's door 

Passed out to sweetest Heaven ! The drink was 

nought, 
Nought but a sign that made the dumb to speak. 
The deaf to hear, and freed two prisoned souls 
That else were bound for ever. It was life. 
Aye, life, not death, thou gavest us to drink ! - 
What else is life but love. 

\_During this speech^ which she utters in a 
sort of subdued ecstasy^ standing a little 
apart from Brangwaine, Tristram >^«^ 
softly descended the rocky path and now 



64 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT. 

approaches them unseen by either. But as 
he nears them his shadow falls between 
them^ and at sight of it Brangwaine 
starts back with a cry of terror. 

Brangwaine. 'Tis there again, 

Death's shadow in the moon ! 

Iseult. Nay, coward heart, 

That shadow is my shadow ! 'Tis my Lord ! 

\He draws closer to her^ and she turns with 
up-lifted face and falls into his arms, 
Brangwaine turns to Tristram. 
Brangwaine. I crave thy pardon. \_Aside^ Heaven 
shield them well ! 

\,Exit R, 
Iseult. My life ! 
Tristram.. Iseult J 

Iseult. And I who fondly feared 

Thou would'st not come to-night ! 

Tristram. Thou know'st full well 

There's nought but death could stay me. Was it she 
But now who spoke of death ? 

Iseult. Nay, heed her not. 

She hath a foolish thought that yester-night 
She saw a crooked shadow in the moon 
That crept into the forest. 

Tristram. Said she so? 

Iseult. But it was nought, I know it ! 

Tristram. Nay, 'twas he, 

Ogrin the dwarf, who spied upon us here ! 
I saw him as I went ! 

Iseult. Then all is known ! 

Tristram. Or shall be ? For what else is left to tell 
The world may never know: 'tis buried deep, 
Locked safe within our hearts. 

Iseult. Ah, hold me close ! 

Nay, closer, closer still! Thy heart to mine — 



ACT IV, 65 

That when the hour be near, each separate pulse 
May cease in one. 

Tristram. Iseult ! My Queen, Iseult ! 

The end draws very near ! In that pale dawn 
We thought 'twas death we drank, and so it was : 
For love like ours, that swallows up all life, 
Dwells on the verg-e of death. This earth's poor day 
Cannot contain it, and the boundless night, 
Where every path is set with golden stars. 
But leads us onward to that larger world 
Whereof death holds the key. 

Iseult. Nay, Tristram, nay ! 

This world was thine ! Thou wast its conqueror. 
And, but for me, had lived, its worshipped I^ord : 
'Twas I held up that cup ! 

Tristram, And I that drank. 

Who else had died of thirst ! These lips were parched 
Till they touched thine. These hooded eyes were 

blind 
And knew no beauty till they gazed in thine ! 
There was no world for me — all was but void. 
Till love flung wide the doors and led me here — 
Here next thy heart ! 

Iseult. Art thou indeed content ? 

Though Death o'ershadow us, art thou content? 
I may not ask for more ! 

Tristram. There is no more ! 

Who owns thee, owns the world ! What else is left, 
In that poor realm that paupers count as life, 
Now lies unheeded and its shattered laws. 
Made for a starveling race that knows not love, 
Read like a crazy scribble on the wall 
That fences round our Heaven. 

Iseult. And I, who feared 

That mine was all the joy, and thine the pain ! 
With us love must be all: there's nought beside— 



66 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT. 

Nor law, nor life, nor duty, nay, nor death ! 
I did not dream it could be all to thee : 
That is my Heaven now ! 

Tristram. And here is mine ! 

\_He kisses her upturned face 

Iseult, Is this the last ? The last ? 

Trisiram. And if it be, 

Yet count it as the first. For in that hour 
When death's pale shadow overspread the dawn, 
We thougfht the first was last. There is no end 
And no beginning- to a love like ours — 
Which, still unwearied, is new born again 
With each encounter ; so that now it seems 
These lips till now had never clung to thine : 
The first and last are one ! Love's deathless flame. 
Sprung from the void long time e'er time began, 
Had sped through countless oeons e'er it fused 
Our hearts in one ; and shall burn brightly on 
When time and life are spent. 

Iseult. My Lord ! My King ! 

\_She sinks upon his breast and they remain 
clasped in a long silent embrace as the 
softer music reveals an under note of terror 
and forewarning. Her face is turned up- 
wards so that the moonlight falls upon it. 
As they sta7id so Ogrin and Mark followed 
by AndrKd appear upon the mound and are 
seen stealthily descending the rocky path. 
As Ogrin steps into the rays of the moon 
the light upon ISBULT's face is suddenly 
darkened : Tristram who is gazing down 
upon her^ feels by this sign the presence of 
the King, and with a shuddering start 
rouses the half swooning ISKULT. Neither 
turn^ yet each is co7tscious of what is there 
as^ without a word^ they draw asunder ; 



ACT IV, 67 

and as they do so the shadow of Mark's 
form, falls between them. Silently he ap- 
proaches^ and as he nears them ISEULT 
passes to Tristram's left and Andred 
descends and comes to the right of the 
King. Ogrin remains on the path crouch- 
ing beneath a twisted tree. All this is in 
dumb show^ and when words come^ they 
come slowly and almost in a whisper. 

Mark. At last! 
Tristram,. At last ! 

Mark, I have waited for this hour, 

Yet never dreamed 'twould come. 

Tristram. And I, my Lord, 

Have seen it coming with the measured tread 
Of Death. 

Mark. Of death! So thou dost think to die? 
Tristram. That fate that drew me here cries out 
for death 
For death and life are one ! and Life and Love ! 
Iseult. Then, Death, come quickly! End what 
needs must end: 
I shall not falter. 

Mark. \_With suppressed intensity ^ And thou 
shalt not die ! 
That were too swift a vengeance. Nay, nor thou. 
Most valorous knight ! If ought should ail thee now, 
Were it no graver than a bloodless scratch, 
I'd pray that sorceress, there, to heal the wound — 
So thou should'st live forever! And for ever. 
With endless shame, still feed my endless hate. 
Tristram. Ay, endless hate ! For I have earned 
no less ! 
Yet, in thy larger heart where love once dwelt. 
Some grain of noble pity, lingering still, 
Should bid thee end us both. 



68 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT. 

Mark. Where love once dwelt? 

Dost think then that I love thee? 

Tristram. Well, I know it ! 

As now I know too well that love is dead. 

Mark. Nay, Sir, 'tis newly-born. For this one hour. 
That sets thee at my feet, doth almost breed 
The love I once but feigned. Thy glory then. 
Robbed me of all the love of all the land : 
For that I loathed thee and both night and day 
Prayed for thy death. But now, this sweeter chance 
That lays thee bare before me, yields all back — 
I owe thee thanks for that ! Therefore live on. 
Hated and spurned by those who worshipped thee. 
Is not this mercy ? 

Tristram. Thou art not the King ! 

But some poor shadow that usurps his place. 
This is not he whom once I thought to serve. 
For whom these lips once drained that fatal cup 
I deemed was death ! Nay, this is not the King ! 

Mark. It is the King indeed ! 

Tristram. Had I but known ! 

Then, when I worshipped thee, had I but known ! 
Yet all in vain ; for in that sceptred hand 
Still stands the symbol of eternal law 
Which sets a canker in the sweet wild rose 
That rebel lovers press between their lips. 
There is thy victory. We yield thee that — 
Who else had all the world ! \Turning on Mark. 
But now this last account betwixt us twain 
Sets my sword free. For wrong here answers wrong. 
And death shall claim us both. 

\_As he advances upon Mark, Andred, who 
has crept up behind him^ runs him, 
though the back with his sword. 

Andred. [Aside.] Not yet, my Lord, 

'Tis thou alone must die and, by thy death. 
End all my craven fears. 



ACT IV, 69 

[Tristram, without a sounds staggers back 
and falls upon the bank. ISEULT throws 
herself upon her knees at his side^ as the 
scene darkens^ leaving but a glint on the 
central figures. 
Mark. So I am spoiled 

Of half my vengfeance. 

Andred. Nay, Sir, had he lived 

Perchance thou had'st lost all. He knew thee well ! 
{They creep off silently by the path on which 
they descended^ leaving ISEULT and Tris- 
tram alone. 
Iseult. My Lord, my Lord, look up ! 
Tristram. I can but see 

Death's shadow in the moon ! 'Tis here at last 1 
Iseult. Nay, 'tis not nig-ht that comes ! It is not 
nigfht ! 

Tristram. Aye, truly, but it is ! Then hasten night. 
Unbar that gfolden prison men call day. 

Iseult. Ah, look again, it hath the grace of dawn. 
The stars are flushed with crimson, and the sky 
Holds some new light I know not ! 

Tristram. Through the dusk 

The way shines clearly that shall lead us on ; 
And who are they who wander hand in hand 
Within that shadowy wood ? 

Iseult. Ah ! take this hand. 

Tristram. It healed me once ! I do remember well. 

Iseult. And wounded thee again. Yea, past all 
cure ! 

[Tristram takes her hand. 

Tristram. Nay, but 'tis marble-white. Its touch 
is cold ! 
Then it was death that lay within that cup ! 
Yet, were it here, I'd drink of it again 
To win thy love again. 

{He falls backward, and ISEUI^T throws her- 
self on his breast. 



70 TRISTRAM AND ISEULT. 

Iseult. This is not Death ! 

Where art- thou now that bade me call on thee ? 
"Whom thou hast healed him thou shalt wound 

agfain ! " 
Yea, all stands clear at last. This wound is mine ! 
Yet that was not the end ? Where art thou now ? 

\*rhe first sound of the Chorus is heard softly 
and ISEUlvT listens. 
Hark, she has heard! Across the foaming^ floor 
She draws toward me now as once before. 

{^Chorus of Spirits.] 

Whiter than the moon are her hands that shall enfold 
him ! 

Darker than the night is that land wherein she dwells i 

Thither shall we bear him, and there thine eyes be- 
hold him. 

There, when all is ended in the last of last farewells. 

[ While the Chorus is heard the stage completely 
darkens and the scene changes to the final 
tableau. During this change^ which is 
co7iducted to the accompaniment of the 
spirit voices,^ frotn the hollow of the pool 
behind the two figures of Tristram and 
ISKULT rises the form of ISEUI.T OF THE 
White Hands, whose figure is lit by a 
single shaft of light. When the change is 
cotnplete the bank upon which they are re- 
clining forms a jutting head of la^id that 
ii backed by a wide expanse of moo7tlit sea^ 
and the ghostly ISEUlvT is seen bending 
over the prostrate forms of the two I^OVERS, 
her white arms and hands outstretched in 
the moonlight. 

Vision. Iseult ! Iseult ! 

[ISEUI.T raises her head as though awakened 
from, a dream. 



ACT IV. 71 

Iseult. I see those white hands now. 

All else is dark ! 

Vision. Did 'st think I had forgot? 

*'Whom thou has healed, him shalt thou wound 

ag-ain." 
"Whom thou hast wounded I alone can cure." 

[Tristram half raises himself as though in a 
trance. 
Tristram. The cure is here at last ! lyook where 
the sea 
Breaks into flower and all the whitened foam 
Is strewn with blossom — Spring is here again ! 
Is this our Cornish land ? 

Vision. Nay, this pale shore 

lyies far beyond all land, beyond the sea 
Where all ships run for Haven at the last ! 

Tristram,, What sail comes o'er those seas! Dost 
cry 'tis black ? 
Nay, look again I It shines as white as snow. 
And there, beside the mast, I see that face 
That was the world to me ! 

Iseult. Nay, I am here. 

And Death and lyove are one ! For those white hands 
Have brought me healing too. 

\_She falls dyin^ beside him.. 
Tristram. Iseult! Iseult! 

For all Love's wounds there is no cure but Death! 

\_He sinks backwards^ and as they lie side by 
side, the figure of ISEULT OF THE WhiTE 
Hands above them, the Chorus is softly 
repeated as the Curtain slowly descends. 



Curtain. 



AUG 29 1906 



